Evolving Knuckle

My pal rivethead from the USA has sent me some really kool
family pictures of his brother Matt's superb '40 Knuckle. And that's Matt's wife Terri's
45 behind it in the picture below. I like thse pictures; they're a personal insight into how a
much-loved custom motorcycle evolves over time. I'll leave it to rivethead to tell his story; as you'll see,
he writes about his memories extremely eloquently.

"The Knuck started as a '40 EL and evolved into something quite different... it has been through a bunch of different phases,
as you can see in the pics. The flattie started as a WLA resto and is now an ass kicking mutt with WR internals and a bunch of custom parts.
These were bikes I watched him build in my dad's basement and backyard, the bikes that gave me the fever I haven't quite gotten rid of to this day.

The tech sheet is for the knuck in its current trim, which is not reflected in all of the pics... there is a ton of shit about it
that I can't remember off the top of my head, but all of it is period racing parts, nothing modern or johnny-come lately.

Frame: 1936 VL
Rake: 29 degrees Stretch: none
Mods: rear stiffener bars, 4 bolt tranny mount, EL mounts, dual backbone w/fatbob tabs
Engine: 1940 EL 82" ci heads: Jerry Branch pistons: 3 7/16 TRW forged cut for flywheel clearance
Cam: mystery racer regrind flywheel: 80" flathead shaved 3 pounds
Carb: MR Linkert Ignition: Splitdorph mag
Transmission: 4 speed short shaft gears: flycut, close ration [25 tooth motor to 24 tooth trans, final ration 3.15]
Shifter: ratchet jockey Clutch: barnett Fuel Tanks: 40 Oil Tanks: 37 only seamless
Wheels: early akronts w/ star hubs, stock HD drums
Other Trick Shit: pre-46 narrow brace fenders, military headlight bracket, CycleRay headlamp, OEM horn, JD taillight w/125 cover, XA seat

history lesson

just a kid in my father's basement,
I'd watch my older brother building antique motorcycles.
leaning into cool concrete tracing rough cracks in the tile floor,
watching cords of tendon spring to life in his wrists,
memorizing the half-muttered litany of curses and cajolery,
I was rapt as any student of Michelangelo as the monster came to life.
the hot oil smell – the citrus bite of handsoap – that furious ozone crackle –
as the mig welder binds spirit to steel.
rusty puzzle pieces, rough swap-meet diamonds gathered into scarred milk-crates
cradled in grease spotted newspaper, fitted together with the gentle dichotomy of grinder and torch.
quenched in blood from knuckle and fingertip.
confused, I stumbled over the incomprehensible biology wrought from sweat and yellowed chrome.
unable to tell a panhead from a shovel but simply amazed.
grinning in the eventual kick- heart-stopping success the straight-piped roar. life.
his patience taught me a craftsman's true tools are patience and discipline
rendering scraps into sculpture monsters into motorcycles.